


Answers

by stargatefan_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-10-07 03:57:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10351767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargatefan_archivist/pseuds/stargatefan_archivist
Summary: 1969 tag/missing scene. Angst, Memorial Day Thank You.SPOILERS for "1969"





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Yuma, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Stargatefan.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stargatefan.com). To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [StargateFan Archive Collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StargateFan_Archive_Collection).

Answers

It dominated the lawn where it leaned against a grassy bank in its final resting place in Constitution Gardens. Dark and foreboding, but welcoming at the same time, the solid black monolith screamed its presence across the years. In all his trips to Washington, he'd never had time to see it. No. That wasn't true. He'd never taken the time to see it. Too many bitter memories were associated with *that* war. War? Conflict? Tragedy. That was probably the best word to describe the Vietnam mess. A national tragedy that had split apart neighbors, friends, families as it raged on the six-thirty news. 

Colonel Jack O'Neill stood back from the wall, trying in vain to take it all in at once. So many names, so many years. Stroke of genius that - aligning the dead and MIA, not alphabetically, but rather chronologically. The early years, with so few dead - not that the low number mattered to the families who loaned the government a living breathing son or daughter, brother or sister, father or mother. Who loaned their loved ones with every expectation of having them returned, and who received a telegram in return. And, if they were some of the lucky ones, a pine box draped in a flag. Others simply never knew what fate had befallen those they loved. 

He'd been too young for Vietnam, by only a few short years. But Sean had not. Cousin Sean O'Neill. Tall, handsome, cocky, self-assured in the Air Force uniform that fitted oh so well. And the pilot's wings on his chest had gleamed so brightly in the sunlight at Granny O'Neill's that last Memorial Day, until a passing cloud had darkened the sky. Shaking his head to clear the memories, Jack walked toward the wall in search of a date. 1969. The year of Sean's death, rather of Sean's disappearance. His plane had gone down, someone remembered seeing a 'chute, then nothing, but the standard 'We regret to inform you...' telegram. By 1969, there were no more personal visits and acts of condolence. There were simply too many dead. 

Jack forced himself to read every name for that year until he found Sean's. Sean Patrick O'Neill. August 11, 1969. He placed a hand lovingly on the cold stone, and traced the engraving that was all that remained of his cousin. As he traced the date, he frowned. The worst day of his young life, and he'd lived it twice. Once as a teenager watching as the grown-ups around him fell apart. Again as an adult, on a quest to get home. Able to tell the young Michael absolutely nothing. Not even to save his life. Tears welled up in his eyes as he mourned the loss of both Sean and Michael. 

Of course, as Daniel still maintained, he didn't really know that Michael was dead. But the young hippie had been just the type to end up dead. Young, idealistic, reluctant to kill. Yep, just the right combination to end up dead. Bless Daniel. He'd managed to get the bus's tag number, but Carter had had little success in tracing it. Records from that era were predominantly paper, and microfilm just did not lend itself to computer searches. That didn't mean that Jack didn't spend as much time as humanly possible in the archives staring at projected images on the screen. It didn't mean that Carter, Daniel and even Teal'c didn't help him as often as possible. Sooner or later, they'd have the answers. 

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he suddenly realized he was being observed by a fifty-something man with a cane. The wide-eyed stare was so intense, so all-encompassing that Jack found himself asking. "Can I help you?" 

A shaggy gray head started to shake a negative, then stopped. "I apologize for staring, but you look exactly like someone I used to know." 

Jack smiled. "I have that sort of face." 

"No, seriously. You're a dea.., uh, exact double of a man I met over thirty years ago. But you would have been a little kid back then." 

"Not so little, mid-teens." 

"Still too young. Perhaps your father?" 

The colonel shook his head. "No, sorry. The only thing I inherited from Dad was his eye color. Everything else is maternal. True Momma's boy, so to speak." 

"I see. Well, the resemblance is uncanny. I've always wondered what happened to him, and his friends. Odd group, but they certainly livened up the road to Woodstock with the side trips they had us make." 

A cold shiver raced up Jack's spine, and nibbled away at the base of his brain. "Woodstock?" 

"Now, you're not that much younger than I am. Woodstock. New York. Concert?" 

Jack fought back an urge to giggle. Surely this was not... "I seem to have heard of it." 

"Right. Name's..." 

'Michael!' Jack found himself whispering silently, mentally crossing all his fingers and toes. 

"...Michael. Your double and his friends hitched a ride with my girlfriend and me cross-country back in 1969." 

"You took a big chance, picking up strangers." Jack had always wondered about the young couple's openness and willingness to share everything they owned. 

"Not really. No money, just the bus, and hand-me-downs so old even Good Will didn't want 'em. Besides, they looked so ... so lost, and frightened." 

"Frightened?" Of all the adjectives he could have chosen, frightened had not been one of them. 

Michael smiled thoughtfully. "Let's just say they were trying to get home, and were desperately afraid they wouldn't make it." He paused for a moment. "The resemblance really is amazing." 

Jack stood in thoughtful silence, drinking in the image of the man who had in essence saved their lives, and their sanity so many years before. Suddenly realizing that Michael's gaze was riveted on him as well, he asked. "Did they make it?" 

"I'm sorry?" 

"I mean, home. Did they make it home?" 

Sad eyes looked toward the wall, "Don't know. I think I've always considered them MIA for some reason." 

"MIA? But that's a--" 

"Military designation. Yes, I know. But that's the other thing about ... your double, he was military for all he tried to deny it." 

"I see." 

"Do you?" Intense blue eyes stared back at him, an unnamed emotion lingering in their depths. 

"Uh, uhm." Jack cleared his throat. "Yes, yes I think I do." Grateful for his sunglasses, Jack turned slightly to look at the wall. "Tourist?" 

"No. Actually, I'm a long-time resident. It felt right to settle here after the war." 

Jack glanced at the ornate cane. "I'm sorry, but did..." His words trailed away in embarrassment. 

Michael followed his line of sight and nodded slowly. "It's all right. I'm used to it. Yes, I was injured in the war. I'd been drafted, you see, and my girlfriend and I were on one last fling before deciding what to do." 

"You mean enlist or escape to Canada?" 

The other man frowned. "I'm surprised to hear a colonel in the Air Force use the word 'escape'." 

"My cousin's on the wall." 

"Oh. I've got many ... too many ... friends there myself." 

Jack noticed with no small pleasure the lack of the customary, but meaningless, 'I'm sorry'. To those who had lost so much for so ... little, the words were simply not needed. Realizing that Michael was still speaking, he struggled to focus on the other man's words. 

"... got lucky. Married Jenny, my girlfriend, at Woodstock. Enlisted in the Army. Became a medic. Served one and a half tours before..." He tapped his leg, smiling ruefully at the artificial sound echoing back. "...got sent home. Went to medical school. Had a family. In short, I got very lucky." 

A child's clear scream of "Grandpa!" resounded loudly against the black stones. Michael braced himself noticeably, then held out his arms to catch a small cannonball in the shape of a little boy. "Yes. Very lucky indeed." Swinging the child high into the air, he asked. "Where's Grandmomma, Danny?" 

Jack started violently at the child's name, then focused desperately on the little one's words. "Ober dare." Twisting wildly in Michael's arms, the boy pointed toward a petite, but still lovely woman approaching the pair. 

"Danny, you know better..." Her words faded away and her eyes widened noticeably at the sight of Jack. "Michael, you do rea--" 

"That he looks like one of our hitchhikers? Yes, we've just been talking about that, Jenny." 

Regaining her composure, Jenny smiled graciously at Jack. "Then you'll understand my surprise, Colonel ..." She peered at his nametag. "... O'Neill." 

"Yes, of course. No problem." Jack was beginning to run out of things to say, his brain had gone on total meltdown. 

Turning to her husband, Jenny pointed to her watch. "I hate to break this up, but we promised Jack..." Turning to Jack, she explained, "...our son, that we'd meet him for dinner in twenty minutes. We're going to be late." 

"You're right, my dear. I've enjoyed the trip down memory lane, Colonel. Perhaps we'll see you again?" 

"Unfortunately, I'm stationed in Colorado, I rarely make it to DC, but it was a pleasure meeting you." 'God, you just don't know how good it is to see you.' 

"I see. Well, have a pleasant stay in Washington, Colonel." With that the couple walked toward the Washington monument, little Danny holding both their hands as he walked between them. Jack watched as the trio disappeared from sight. 

Turning back to the wall, he discovered it had taken on a whole new aura. Just a few short moments ago, all he could think of was loss. Permanent, never-ending loss. Now as he took in the scene around him, he realized how completely wrong he'd been. This monument wasn't a tribute to death. It was a memorial to life. The lives on the wall had, of course, been lost, but their impact on their families, their friends, and their country had not been. All around him, Jack saw signs of life. The letter, left by a mother remembering her son. The small pink teddy bear left by the grandchild who's own father had been deprived of his at much too young an age. The single red rose, left by the husband who'd stayed home only to lose his wife to a war on the other side of the world. 

All had been lost physically, but their memories would never die. Their lives and their sacrifice were forever etched in the solid black structure. Honored and respected by a nation only recently able to come to grips with the tragedy which had been Viet Nam. 

Two laughing children, oblivious to the meaning of the stone structure, raced past him in pursuit of absolutely nothing but the joy of living. Young couples, whose lives had never experienced the kind of horror war brings, strolled hand in hand among spring foliage. Old people, young people, it didn't matter who, they all owed something, whether they realized it or not, to the names on the wall. On all the walls, monuments, plaques, whatever, for all the wars and conflicts fought openly or in secret. 

Stepping back to the wall, Jack lovingly touched Sean's name. "Thank you, buddy, for everything." Glancing briefly in the direction Michael and Jenny had gone, he repeated. "For everything. Because of you, I finally have my answers." With that he backed up slowly, pulled himself to attention, and saluted, before walking away into a future that suddenly looked much, much brighter. 

**The End**

  


* * *

>   
>  © June 10, 2000  
> The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp.  
> The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters  
> who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names,   
> titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television,   
> Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd.   
> Partnership.  
> This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and   
> solely meant for entertainment.   
> All other characters, the story idea and the story itself   
> are the sole property of the author.   
> 

* * *

  



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